“John, don’t!” she cried. " "Yes, yer hon'r," replied the chairman, taking the note. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. "There's no outlet that way. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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